milk on my spotless jeans.
He nods, staring at me over his steepled hands. For the last half-hour, we’ve redone the whole Granger thing and I’ve been suitably placed on the naughty step.
‘Just the rest of the week,’ I add. ‘I’ll be back on Monday.’
‘Are you all right?’ he asks.
‘Peachy,’ I say, ‘just have to get my head around the fact that my marriage is falling apart, my brother comes back in four weeks and I’ll have nowhere to live. And, oh, you’ve tossed me off an account I brought to the firm.’
Matt inhales deeply. I can tell he’s trying to decide on the right reply. I know there is none, that this isn’t his fault, but I need someone to blame for the Grangers’ betrayal. I’m knee-deep in my own.
‘They’ll calm down after a while, Adam. Let it settle for a bit. Why don’t you take some time away in the sun?’
I don’t reply, but imagine me away sunning myself – on my own. I have never holidayed alone and I don’t intend to start now.
‘Maybe Emma would like to go?’ He seems to read my mind.
She probably would, but the thought of Emma and I playing happily on a sandy beach, her frolicking in a white bikini, does not fill me with the lusty urge I expected it to.
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